


i tried pretending that i don't give a damn (but you've always known who i am)

by MissSpock



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Beware, Comfort No Hurt, Crying, Ep 12, Families of Choice, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Mild Language, So Much Friendship, and possibly has abandonment issues, but that's p much canon lmao, god i hope not, hints of victuuri, other than that, platonic af, the F bomb was dropped, ur fine, well i mean, yurio needs hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSpock/pseuds/MissSpock
Summary: “You can't retire,” Yuri interrupted fiercely, or, at least as fiercely as he could with tears pouring down his cheek and snot dripping from his nose, turning his face to glare up at Yuuri with red, puffy eyes.(Yuri skated his heart out and he still didn't know if it would be enough.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I still don't feel too great about Ep 12. Something about it made Victor seem too manipulative. Almost like he was using Yuri and Yuuri's rivalry to keep Yuuri in competition. But that IS speculation, and I mean, I love all of my babies too much. SO just...ahve some crying and cuddles? My brain went to mush at the end (because I'm never good at ending things apparently). Forgive me if it sucks lol :P

The crowd roared louder than the blood drumming in his ears.

 

He'd done it. He had to have.

 

His arm dropped, aching, from his final position,and his gaze dropped with it, met momentarily with Victor's in grim understanding, from the side of the rink, and suddenly the anger drained out of him and tears were rolling down his cheeks, sobs tearing from his throat.

 

His fingers dug into his face as he sank to his knees, shaking _like a child_ , and he _hated_ it, but he couldn't stop.

 

It was over. The thought echoed again and again his head. _It was over_. And this needed to have been enough.

 

Eventually, Yuri picked himself up and made his way over to the Kiss and Cry. Yakov looked apprehensive, but said nothing, only gruffly patted his shoulder. Tears were still streaming down his face even as the camera focused on the two of them and he could hear the broadcast already, commentary on how young he was and how absolutely overwhelmed.

 

He didn't care at the moment. He could flip off the tv all he wanted later. More unnerving than that was the feeling that Victor's gaze was burning holes in the front of his head. Tears were still leaking out from the corners of his eyes and it was annoying because all he wanted was to see his damn score. Everything was riding on him.

 

Then the crowd erupted a second time and he rubbed furiously at his eyes, squinting at the screen in front of him.

 

“200.97,” Yakov caught his arm, eyes bright. “Yura, you've _won_!”

 

0.12 points.

 

He'd done it.

 

Yakov's face was priceless when, instead of shouting in victory like he usually did, Yuri simply screwed his eyes shut and cried harder. At least he wasn't too ugly of a crier. He didn't turn splotchy like Victor.

 

Thank god. Oh, thank god. He was never religious but he thanked who ever was in charge of the universe for the slight victory.

 

Then came the endless flurry of worried questions, asking him if anything hurt and what was wrong. He brushed it all aside, ripped the skate guards off his feet, and stomped onto the ice, deaf to the protests around him.

 

Even through tear-filled eyes he could make out the sparkling blue blur that was Yuuri's free skate costume across the rink, and Yuri picked up speed, practically flying into the other man.

 

Yuuri's eyes widened as he realized what was happening, and he let out a startled yelp, but by then it was too late and they were crashing to the ground like a recently felled tree.

 

Yuri's fingers dug into the fabric of Yuuri's suit and he clung on for all that he was worth.

 

“Y-Yurio?”

 

He couldn't tell if he was growling or if he was just bursting into tears again, but the way Yuuri made a soft noise, turning underneath him, it was probably the latter. He buried his face into Yuuri's chest, pressed his cheek against the fabric Yuuri's blazer, felt himself trembling, and his world constricted until there was nothing but this soft blue, enveloping him from all sides.

 

“I _won_ ,” He declared, muffled, into the other man's chest, heaving for breath between sobbing hiccups, “ _I beat you_.”

 

“You did,” Yuuri agreed, and his voice was so damn calm that it cut, and fear rose up in him, unbidden, the same panic that he had translated into a flawless free program jumping in his veins again.

 

0.12 points. That was all that had been between them. Victor had wordlessly asked Yuri for a miracle, and if Victor needed help where Yuuri was concerned, Yuri wasn't sure 0.12 points would be enough.

“I tried--” He gasped, for his own benefit, or maybe for Victor's, “I tried _so hard_ \--”

 

“Yurio,” the reminder was gentle, like the fingers carding through his hair. “You did it. You won gold--”

 

“You can't retire,” Yuri interrupted fiercely, or, at least as fiercely as he could with tears pouring down his cheek and snot dripping from his nose, turning his face to glare up at Yuuri with red, puffy eyes. “You _can't_. I—“ His breath caught in his throat and he couldn't breathe with how angry he was at himself, for not being able to do this, for not being able to do _enough_ , “I won't allow you to.”

 

“...Yurio.” Yuuri was pulling away. He couldn't pull away. Yuri wouldn't let go. Not ever. “ _Yuri.”_

 

“You can't—You can't leave the ice. You can't leave us, leave _me--”_

 

He choked. The season had been different and it started with stupid Yuuri who shared his name. It started with shared katsudon, shared hot springs, shared sentinels underneath waterfalls. It turned into shared routines, shared coaches, shared pirozhki. It would end when they shared a podium.

 

Victor had declared he was returning, reached across empty space to pull Yuri in for a hug, one final, silent plea and Yuri _knew_.

 

If Yuuri left, Victor was going to leave too.

 

It was going to _end._ Watching Yuuri flub his quad sal. Teasing him about his borderline weird love for katsudon. Making fun of Victor's hair and calling him an old man. Telling them they're disgusting when they got too touchy with each other. Telling them to fuck off when they mothered him too much. Letting on, occasionally, that maybe he didn't hate Yuuri as much as he claimed he did. Genuinely looking forward to competing because he knew he'd have decent (and embarrassingly loud cheerleading) competition. Standing on that podium with someone tolerable, someone that genuinely cared--

 

_Yuri didn't want it to end._

 

Before he knew it, there were arms around him. He had no more energy to resist. Yuuri was soft in all the ways Yuri never allowed himself to be, and feeling all of fifteen years, feeling like the child he was, Yuri pressed his face into the other man's neck and sobbed even harder.

 

“ _I don't want to be alone--”_

 

“Shhh. It's okay.” There were the fingers in his hair again, and his stupid braid was falling out, and now he'd have to redo it before the awards ceremony. It grounded him to this reality, to the now, before he had to let go, before it was all done with and packed away and left behind in the morning. “I'm not going anywhere.”

 

“Promise?” His voice was wobbly, and he was pretty sure his face was wobbly, and there he went, sounding childish. But he'd long since thrown dignity to the wind. He'd cried on national television, for god's sake.

 

“Promise,” Yuuri was smiling, that soft, crinkled-looking expression that made his entire face look too fucking _soft_. His eyes were wet, too, red at the corners, bleeding warmth. “Retirement or not, I'm not going to leave, Yurio.”

 

Warmth flooded into him, too.

 

“Good,” he managed between hiccups, “ _Good.”_

 

And—well, he'd been crying for at least ten minutes now. He was bound to run out of tears eventually. It hurt a little, in the space behind his head, and his arms ached from the exertion of his program compounded with clinging on to Yuuri as if his life depended on it. There was the pounding of blood in his ears again, but of relief this time, Yuuri's staying, Victor's staying, they're staying, it was going to be okay--

 

It was weird to think that he'd never cried in front of anyone, _for_ anyone, except his grandfather, up till now. Yuuri and Victor, not quite friends, not quite rivals, something else altogether, something tangible but hidden at the same time, something like--

 

Like family.

 

The silence sat between them, heavy, but comforting. Yuri managed to pull away enough to rub furiously at his eyes, and Yuuri patted the teenager's back sympathetically.

 

The older man didn't say anything as Yuri struggled to put himself back together to his usual form, voice cracking as he began roughly, “If you leave me to stand on the damn podium with that shithead _JJ_ next year I swear to _fucking god--”_

 

The older man laughed. “Can't let you get too comfortable with that medal now, can I?”

 

Victor cut in, appearing completely unruffled, but his eyes sparkled when his gaze met Yuri's as if saying _thank you a million times over_. “You should get this year's medals before you worry about next year's. They want you two over to the podium.”

 

They shared a meaningful look over Yuri's head when Victor helped Yuuri up. Normally, Yuri would be telling them to get a room already. But today, he was slow.

 

He blamed it on the crying.

 

Yuuri looked to him, worry apparent in his eyes again. “You good?”

 

Yuri sniffed, dragged his sleeve across his face, and nodded. “Yeah.”

 

They hauled him to his feet.

 

“I'll crush you again next year, Katsudon.” He declared, when the cameras were flashing in their faces and they were holding up their medals, but with none of his usual fire. In fact, he was smiling, with watery eyes.

 

“I look forward to it, Yurio.” Yuuri grinned, grabbed him by the medal and put him in a headlock, ruffling his hair with relentless knuckles.

 

Just like that the spell of camaraderie was broken.

 

“ _What the hell, baka?! If this ends up on the internet I'll kick your ass!”_

 

(It, of course, did. Yuri definitely did not save the picture to his own phone and he definitely didn't smile while doing it.)

 

 


End file.
